The ticket felt strange in his hand. A slim piece of parchment, smooth yet buzzing faintly with magic, as if the ink itself were alive. Sanemi Shinazugawa frowned at it, turning it over between his fingers like he expected it to bite him. He had fought demons, endured scars carved into his body by claw and fang, but a simple train ticket somehow unsettled him more. The words glowed faintly in curling script:
Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
He would never admit aloud that he almost scoffed. The number was nonsense, and yet here he was, standing at King's Cross Station, pressed shoulder to shoulder with ordinary Muggles who walked past the barrier without a second glance. And then there were the others—the odd ones—families whose clothing didn't quite fit the time, children clutching owls in cages or cauldrons rattling inside trunks. Wizards. Just like him, apparently.
His hand brushed against the amulet around his neck, a small bronze charm etched with runes. It had been given to him by the old witch who guided him through Diagon Alley, explained in clipped tones that it would translate his words and thoughts into English. Without it, Sanemi would've been hopeless—his tongue still clung stubbornly to Japanese, his mind sharper in the language of his birth. But with this, when he spoke, others would hear him clearly.
Still, he wasn't sure if he trusted it.
Sanemi shifted his trunk behind him, the school uniform folded neatly inside along with the books, the cauldron, the new wand—yew wood, stubborn as he was. A standard Hogwarts supply list. It had all been paid for with a pouch of wizarding coins he'd been handed when he woke up in this world. As though fate itself had decided his path.
"Best get on with it," he muttered in Japanese. The amulet pulsed faintly at his throat, humming like wind in the trees. He glared at the brick pillar between Platforms Nine and Ten. People were vanishing into it like water slipping into sand.
"Tch. Ridiculous."
But he adjusted his grip, tightened his jaw, and strode forward. The bricks rushed up at him, and for a heartbeat he thought he would smash his face—but then the world twisted.
He stumbled into light, heat, and sound. A scarlet steam engine roared on the tracks, hissing white smoke into the blue sky. Children in black robes clustered about, parents fussing over them, owls hooting, cats yowling in cages. The air vibrated with life, with something deeper—magic, woven into every breath.
Sanemi froze. His chest tightened.
Not fear. Not anger.
Awe.
It had been years—no, lifetimes—since he had felt it.
The last time he'd stood like this was as a boy, before demons had ripped his world apart. Before blood and ash had replaced wonder. But here, the sheer strangeness of it, the impossible steam and flickering spells as parents shrank luggage into pockets or floated trunks with lazy wand flicks—it clawed at something inside him.
He realized only when he exhaled that his lips had curled into a thin smile.
"…So this is the world I've been dragged into."
The amulet translated for him, but nobody listened. They were too busy.
Sanemi marched forward, dragging his trunk toward the nearest carriage. He ignored the chatter of excited first-years comparing wands, the squeals of friends reunited after a long summer. His scarred face and stormy eyes were enough to make others step aside as he climbed aboard.
The corridor was cramped, lined with compartments already filling with students. He brushed past them without apology. A freckled boy waved cheerfully—Sanemi didn't even glance. Two girls giggled as they whispered about his scars—he scowled, and they flinched back.
Finally, he found an empty compartment and slid the door shut behind him with a sharp clack.
The silence was immediate, broken only by the hiss of steam and the muffled chaos outside. He set his trunk down, pulled out the neatly folded Hogwarts uniform, and stared at it.
Black robes. A plain tie. A crest he didn't recognize yet.
He had worn uniforms before—haori marked with a Demon Slayer's rank, stiff with blood and duty. This one was softer, harmless almost. He ran a finger over the fabric and exhaled slowly.
"This is what it means to start over, huh?"
The words were meant only for himself, but the amulet carried them into English anyway, and they hung in the empty air.
He leaned back, head against the window, eyes tracing the steam curling past the glass.
〆彡彡彡彡彡彡彡彡彡彡彡
The train lurched into motion.
Sanemi's compartment door slid open, and in stepped a boy with untidy black hair and round glasses perched on his nose. His clothes were slightly too big for him, like hand-me-downs. He looked nervous, glancing about before asking, "Er—sorry, do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else seems full."
Sanemi's eyes narrowed. The amulet translated the words instantly, but the boy's tone was clear enough—polite, tentative.
"…Do what you want," Sanemi said.
The boy smiled faintly and heaved his trunk inside. He looked at Sanemi's scars once, then looked away without comment. That was new.
"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."
The name meant nothing to Sanemi. He gave a curt nod. "…Sanemi."
Harry blinked, clearly puzzled by the foreign name, but he didn't press. Instead, he sat, rubbing at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Sanemi caught the gesture but didn't ask. He wasn't in the mood for small talk.
For a while, the two sat in silence, broken only by the rhythm of the train on the tracks. Sanemi let his gaze wander. Outside, rolling countryside blurred past. Inside, the walls hummed faintly with magic, wards woven into every board and rivet. He could feel it, like wind currents beneath his skin.
"…This world really is different," he muttered in Japanese.
The amulet translated softly into English, though Harry only half-heard it.
"Different?" Harry asked.
Sanemi's lips curled. "…Yeah. Different."
He looked out the window again, scarred fingers tapping lightly on the sill.
Wind howled faintly in his chest, invisible, restless. He didn't know what this world expected of him, or what role he was supposed to play here. But as the train carried him further from London, deeper into the unknown, he allowed himself one small thought.
Maybe—just maybe—this life would not be as cursed as the last.
And as the scarlet engine roared north, Sanemi Shinazugawa, former Wind Hashira, first-year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, closed his eyes and let the strange, wonderful magic of the wizarding world wash over him.